


daymares

by starlight_poprocks



Series: old haunts (The Arcana) [2]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Almost Sex, Bathing/Washing, Body Worship, Bubble Bath, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, HEAVY body worship im not kidding, Healing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Naked Cuddling, Panic Attacks, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trans Male Character, Trans Male Reader, Voyeurism, lots of soft kisses, more hair petting, only kinda voyeuristic, reader has top surgery scars, trauma is a bitch, vent fic, who am I kidding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26367421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlight_poprocks/pseuds/starlight_poprocks
Summary: your first time is scarier than you thought it'd be. asra is there to help.(gender neutral reader in part 1. reader is explicitly written as trans ftm in part 2)
Relationships: Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana), Asra (The Arcana)/Reader, Asra (The Arcana)/You
Series: old haunts (The Arcana) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916110
Comments: 3
Kudos: 83





	daymares

**Author's Note:**

> continuation of my vent fic :) spicier this time but still angsty

What warranted the right mood for intercourse? Was it a room lit with dozens of candles, a bed covered in rose petals, with incense burning? Was it something carefully planned, or was it supposed to be spontaneous? Did it have to be romantic, at night, with perfect passion and experience? Or could it be in the middle of the afternoon, with fumbles and mistakes in a rickety bed? 

You still don’t know the answer, even as Asra pushes your back against a wall and shuts the shop door behind him. The door glows white with the magic lock. 

You’re lost in the kiss, hands moving up his chest as he runs his hands through your hair. His tongue sweeps in and your mind goes blank with delight. Instinct takes over as you roam the shop, bumping into things as you two stumble about. 

You back into a shelf, and something glass topples off and shatters. You part from the messy kiss, panting softly, to glance down. Asra pulls your attention back to him. 

“Later,” he pants, and his mouth is back on yours. You forget what drew you away from kissing him in the first place. 

Your hair is a fluffy mess, tousled up by Asra. You find your way to the bedroom, though not without running into practically every surface in the shop on your way there. Asra sits on the edge of the bed and lifts you onto his lap. You eagerly wrap your legs around his waist, relishing the feeling of being taller as you turn your head to kiss him once more. 

Heart thrumming, excitement zings through your body as Asra’s teeth graze your pulse on your neck.  _ Is this it?  _ You think to yourself.  _ Is this the right time? Is it gonna happen? _

Asra’s mouth meets the sweet spot that is where the muscle of your neck leads to your collarbone, eliciting a quiet moan from you. 

“Mm…” You sigh softly, pushing your hips down into his. “Asra…” 

He nips his way down your neck, not enough to leave marks, but just enough for a prick of pain. The coil in the pit of your stomach is stretched tight. Asra rakes blunt nails down your back, and it tickles slightly through the fabric of your shirt. 

His hands run down to the hem of your shirt, and you lift your arms obediently as he pulls it off and tosses it aside. He presses featherlight kisses down your chest, mouth lingering over the thin scars just under your nipples. Years ago, you would’ve resented even the slightest touch to your chest, but after your surgery, it only felt reaffirming. Every move and kiss is gentle and slow, never roaming anywhere sensitive. 

Asra’s hands settle on your hips. He looks up at you and tilts his head. “You’re stunning,” he whispers, before leaving a tender kiss to your sternum. 

Hoisted up, Asra sets your down on your back onto the bed. His scarf and shirt are discarded onto the floor with a show of sliding off his smooth shoulders. You stifle a giggle at his theatrics. 

Asra bends down, looming over you. Nerves tighten inside you. His knees are on either side of your hips, and his hands are flat on either side of your head. His shadow falls over you. 

A hand wraps around your left wrist and everything shatters. 

“Stop, stop- wait- n- no-” you gasp, yanking your hand back. Phantoms snake around you and all you can see is a sinister grin cast in darkness. Foul breath invades your senses and you squeeze your eyes shut. Panic is rising. A lump in your throat and tightness in your chest make it impossible to breathe. 

You’re a kid again, unknowing and innocent. You’re eleven again, vulnerable and lost. You’re thirteen again, unwitting and unwilling. You’re back  _ there  _ again, all at once. It’s too much. 

_ Oh c’mon,  _ the mix of voices say.  _ I won’t hurt you. After all I’ve done for you, can’t I just have this? I’m not asking a lot you know. Just come closer. Just show me. You’re just so- _

Kicking your legs, you scramble back blindly, until you scoot off the edge of the bed entirely and fall to the floor. The uncomfortable angle and pain snap you back. You hear the tail end of your name being called. It barely registers. 

You’re panting like you’ve just run a mile. There isn’t enough air in the world to fill your lungs. Why can't you breathe? How do you breathe again? You feel like you’ve forgotten. 

Something touches your calf. A hand. You gasp and curl away, trying to make yourself smaller. You’re scrunched up between the wall and bed, but anything is better than seeing what awaits you. 

What… awaits you, exactly? 

“-en to my voice,” you hear someone say. You know that voice. “Just focus on the sound of my voice.” 

Asra. 

You breathe out in a short huff and wriggle a bit from where you're stuck. Calloused fingertips gingerly brush yours and you don’t flinch away this time. You let his hands grab your forearms and pull you back up onto the bed. 

The atmosphere feels heavy. You sit there for a minute, trying and failing to catch your breath. 

Asra’s hands ghost over you, afraid to touch. There were times you craved touch like it was as dire as food and water, and then there were the times even the slightest touch felt like it burned, sending unpleasantness to your very core. You weren't sure which you felt right now. 

As much as you’d give anything to have Asra hold you, you felt disgust. Not at him, but with yourself. 

“I’m- I’m- I’m sorry,” you gasp out, struggling to get the words out and remember how to breathe at the same time. 

“No, no, no, shhh,” Asra hushes gently. “It’s okay, don’t be sorry. What do you need?” 

You don’t know the answer to that. Everything is spinning. “I’m- I- I can feel them, touching me.” you manage, just barely. You rub your hands up and down your body, trying to scratch away the sensation of hands. “Everywhere- they’re all over- and- and I can hear him; both of them- all- all of them!” 

Asra leans forward. “Take a deep breath.” His voice is surprisingly gentle. “Listen to me. You’re not there. They’re not here. You’re home. You’re safe. They can’t do anything to you anymore.” 

Home? Home. The smell of last night’s myrrh incense is stale but there. The white bedsheets are painted with pinks and oranges from the sunset spilling in through the window. Pillows surround you, some with old tattered cases, others silk, and some with no cases at all. 

Home. Vesuvia. The shop. Asra. 

“Breathe for me,” Asra urges. “Please,” he adds. The desperation in his voice pangs in your heart. “Can you?”

You can’t stop shaking. It feels like trying to breathe underwater. You move your head side to side,  _ no.  _

Asra doesn’t falter. “Okay, okay,” he murmurs. “Can I have your hand?” 

You lift one hand. It’s shaking uncontrollably. The things it’s touched… Asra knows this, and still he wants it. 

“Dirty,” you choke out. 

“Remember what I said last time?” Asra asks. 

You think. You nod slowly. “It’s o- okay?” You phrase it more as a question. Asra nods once, and you extend your hand to his. He holds your hand in both of his for a moment, before he slowly brings it to his chest, placing your palm over his heart. 

“Breathe,” Asra whispers. “Slowly.” 

You inhale, and salt water burns your throat. Spiny needles puncture your lungs. You cough, gasping for air. Asra’s free hand flies to your back without thinking, rubbing up and down. You’re too focused on the way your chest tightens with every cough to flinch from the touch. 

“You’re safe,” Asra reminds you. His warm hand rubbing your bare back is so different than the touches that linger in your mind. So much kinder. 

“I’m so- I’m sorry,” you gasp. “I ru- I ruin- I ruined it.” 

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Asra insists. “I’m the sorry one. I went too fast.” 

You want to protest. No, he didn’t do anything wrong, you enjoyed it, up until… but he  _ did,  _ even if it was on accident. Your breath comes in gasps instead of an answer.

“Breathe slowly,” Asra instructs. The thought of it makes you choke. “In.” 

You suck in air and you can’t get enough to feel alive. “Slowly,” Asra says again, ever gentle. You try again, taking in a shallow breath. There’s no sea water this time. 

“And out.” 

You exhale, shuddering and slow. It’s easier this time. You hold onto Asra’s shoulders with a vice grip. “Asra, Asra, Asra,” you whimper. Your hand is still over his heart. Your heartbeat is slowing to match his. “Asra…”

“I’m here,” he says, still stroking your back. “Let me hold you?” 

Thinking for a moment, you nod eagerly,  _ desperately.  _ “Don’t- don’t leave me,” you rasp in a whisper. “Please. Please don’t.” 

He holds you flush to him. You’re both shirtless, and a bit sweaty, but you couldn’t care less. “Oh, my love,” he sighs. It’s almost pitiful. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise. Okay?” 

You squeeze him. “O- okay.” Your breath hitches in your throat and you hold it there. 

“Breathe.” Oh, yeah. That’s a thing. You sigh shakily. Every inch of you feels gross. You want-  _ need-  _ to purge it. Pulling away from Asra aches, but sitting still while the grime crawls on your skin makes you fidgety. 

Nail marks stand up on your skin as you try to scratch it all away. It sticks stubbornly. You whine a bit, digging your nails in further, itching up and down in distress. 

“Hey…” Asra starts, but his voice trails. He doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m all gross,” you shudder. “And dirty. I can’t get it off. The hands… their touch…” 

He bounces back faster than you would’ve thought. “Okay,” Asra says decidedly. “Do you want to get clean?” 

You stop scratching to look at him. “Yes,” you whine lamely. Your arms are marked with shallow scratches. 

Asra hops off the bed and holds out a hand. “Come with me.” 

Hesitant, but obedient to a fault, you take his hand. He pulls you up and off the bed. You trail after him, clinging, as he leads you into the bathroom. 

Asra flicks on a light. “No!” You say quickly. “No light. Please.” 

The room is dark again. It’s illuminated only by the dying sun coming in through the small window by the sink. “Okay,” he murmurs to you. 

He twists the jewel knobs and warm water starts to fill the tub. It’s small for two, but it’s not the first time you’ve bathed together. Steam billows, and Asra adds something from a corked bottle that makes foamy bubbles. 

He turns to grab something from the shelf behind you, and taps your nose as he does. Soapy bubbles tickle you, and you find yourself giggling. Asra smiles at this. 

Something plinks into the water, and color swirls. It’s pastel, and neon, and opalescent all at once. There’s a faint shimmer in the bubbles. Asra holds his hand out, and you turn your head, blushing. 

“Tur- turn around,” you stammer. He looks surprised for a moment, but he obeys, back facing you. You’ve seen each other naked before. You’ve undressed in front of each other. But in this moment, you feel exposed and vulnerable and you can’t stand someone looking at all of you. You strip the remainder of your clothes like the fabric burns.

You sink into the hot water slowly, bringing your knees to your chest when you sit down. “You… you can look now.” Your eyes are fixated on the colors of the bath bomb bending and warping in the water. 

It smells like chamomile and vanilla. The water is almost milky, and you can feel the froth of cocoa butter in the bubbles. You blink slowly, and Asra is suddenly sitting across from you. Your toe tips are touching in the water. He wiggles his toes, and you mask a small laugh by huffing through your nose. 

“Let me wash you,” he offers. 

You’re starting to feel the silt of your past fade away, but you shift anyways, leaning your back into his chest. His touch is exquisitely soft, fingertips gentle. Small drops of water stay where his wet hands touch, rolling down your arms. 

You force yourself to relax, stiff in your hunched position. You rest your elbows on his upper thighs, and sink down further into the bath. Water bobs at your collarbones. 

Asra smirks into the crook of your neck. “Comfortable?” You nod once, nestling up into him. Even now, you can hear his voice struck with lovesickness. If you could see his face, you’re sure it would reflect that as well. 

A bottle of soap makes a lewd noise as Asra squeezes out a pool of it into his palm. You fail to hide a chuckle. His fingers seep into your locks and your eyes slide shut. He works up a lather, scrubbing it away from your eyes as he pushes your bangs up from your forehead. 

“Mm, smells nice,” you mutter under your breath. It’s jasmine, and something woodsy you can’t put your finger on, but with Asra’s fingers working calmingly through your scalp, you don’t care. 

The slow way in which Asra takes his time grounds you. If you had been in the bath alone, you would have found yourself scrubbing until you bled. 

Instead, Asra cups water in his hands and you tip your head back as he washes away the soap from your hair. You run a hand through your wet locks. It feels silky now. 

Asra makes a show of lifting your arm up by the elbow and gentle rubbing up and down with a seafoam colored loofah. The soap on it is different from the hair soap; this one smells fruity, like apples with cinnamon and oatmeal milk. 

It soaps up more than you thought it would. Sunset refracts off the soapy suds from the window, making faint rainbows dance on the walls. With Asra’s back against the wall, you have enough room to stretch your legs out. Your heels touch the end of the tub. His shins brush the sides of your thighs, but the touch doesn’t send disgust through your bones. You let out a contented sigh. 

“You know,” Asra says as he works the meshy pouf over your left forearm, “our skin cells completely regenerate every seven years.” He moves down to your hand. Your soiled, filthy hands. You curl your fingers in, staring down into the murky, colorful water. 

_ Where is he going with this?  _ You wonder. You poke at a glossy bubble floating by your knee. It pops. 

“The places they touched,” he mutters, rubbing soap into your wrist and hand with his own hands, “the things  _ you  _ touched… there’s no trace of it now. This hand, your body; it’s not the one they touched.” 

Asra rests his chin on your shoulder. “And even if it hadn’t been seven years, it quite literally isn’t the same body. That body is ash.” His voice cracks a smidge, and you remember the  _ pain  _ he went through. 

You lean your head against his. “Touch me,” you whisper. You feel the surprise in him in the way he tenses for a moment. “I want you to touch where they touched. Erase them from my skin.” You hold his face with one hand and crane your neck to look him in the eyes. “I want every part of me to be replaced with you.” 

He goes oh so slow. His touch is gliding, fingers just barely ghosting over your skin. You’re both a bit slippery, and your heart speeds up when he reaches your left wrist. Your heel squeaks against the edge of the tub. 

Asra curls his fingers around your wrist. You stiffen, expecting it to hurt from a lingering bruise, but no pain comes. No bruise remains. He slides his hand up into yours and you entwine your fingers together. A feeling of relief washes over you. 

Hands move gently down your flat chest. You remember when it wasn’t- when those hands touched you like they owned you- but Asra’s hands are so different. They caress the scars like they’re battle wounds, tender and languid. 

Reaching your right arm behind you, your hand finds Asra’s curls and you latch your fingers in his cloudy locks. His hair is dry unlike yours. His nose is pressed into the crook of your neck, and his warm breath tickles in a pleasant way. You arch your back into his chest, scooting closer to him. 

Asra responds by dragging his hands down from your chest into the water, to your stomach and hips. He holds his hands there, lovingly fondling the chub around your waistline. You feel his fingers trace the jagged stretch marks on your hips and stomach that protrude in stark colors. You squirm a bit, self-conscious. 

“You’re captivating,” Asra breathes softly. His plump lips press a kiss to the vein where your heartbeat throbs and you choke back a soft noise. 

His hands skim down to your thighs, moving in wide circles as each hand strokes a thigh. You shiver a little as his hands slip to your inner thighs, but he moves away quick, stretching his arms to move down your calves. You bring your legs closer so he doesn’t have to strain. 

You curl your toes as Asra’s hands ghost the tops of your feet and you twist, ticklish. He laughs breathily against your neck and it sends shivers down your spine. His hands sweep over your rough, calloused heels and back up your shins to your inner knee and thighs. 

His hands slide to your ass, cupping the soft flesh in his hands. It doesn’t even feel like a sexual gesture. It’s just Asra touching you. You can’t remember a time where being touched  _ didn’t  _ make you feel terrified and helpless and disgusting. But now? You feel warmth, and safety. 

And that’s the weird part. Good, but weird. Safe in a bathtub, butt-naked while your lover’s hands roam every part of your body. There’s not a part of you that feels like kicking and lashing out in fear he might try something. 

It’s trust, through and through. 

You give a soft laugh. Asra’s hands stop, and you turn to plant a small, close-mouth kiss on his very kissable lips. “I like this,” you chuckle, albeit a bit embarrassedly. “Is that weird?” 

“Not at all,” Asra assures you. “I could worship you forever.” 

Heat spreads to the tips of your ears. You purse your lips, saying nothing. Asra kisses the shell of your ear softly with a smirk. “Do you want me to keep going?” He asks in a quiet whisper. His breath chills you. 

You swallow. There’s a lump in your throat, and nerves coil around your heart, but you’re not afraid. You’re more afraid of how you might react. Still, you nod. 

Gradually, Asra’s hands move down your midsection to in between your legs. His hands are the same temperature as the water, but hands that are not your own touching such a place makes your chest tighten. 

“I can stop,” Asra says. His hands stop moving. “Are you alright?” 

No one had ever asked if you were alright. They did whatever they liked, before, regardless of how comfortable you were. You place your hand over Asra’s and guide him further down. 

“I’m okay,” you whisper. “It’s you.” You turn his cheek with your other hand to get him to look at you. You find yourself smiling softly at him. 

Asra looks absolutely besotted. His amethyst eyes are shining, white eyelashes fluttering as he blinks adoringly at you. “I love when you smile,” he utters, bringing one hand up to stroke your cheek. “You look so carefree.” 

You hum softly. “I guess I am.” You lean over your shoulder to lock Asra in a kiss, your thumb and index finger holding him gently in place. It’s a long and delicate kiss, lips moving in slow-going motions. 

The kiss breaks when Asra’s hand descends to your groin. He falters when your lips are gone from his. You’re biting back a whimper. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks softly. His palm goes flat. 

“No, I…” you exhale heavily. Why do you feel so breathless? “I’m just… sensitive.” 

You feel Asra’s look change from concern to understanding. “C’mere,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours. His lips are as soft as ever, pliant to your kiss. You can't get enough of him. 

Asra snaps his fingers and from the corner of your closed eyes, you can see the shape of a faint light. You peek to see a candle on the shelf is glowing with a weak flame; your favorite candle. 

“Mm, sap,” you tease, grazing your teeth over his bottom lip. 

“I know you said no light,” he mumbles. “I can snuff it if you wan-” 

You silence him with a peck. “I like it. Don’t worry.” 

The smell of passionfruit and citrus fills the small bathroom quickly. You relax against Asra’s chest and slump on him, head resting on the end of his shoulder. His chin is nestled in the crook of your neck, and you fit so perfectly in his arms your eyes flutter closed. 

Asra’s arms wrap around you, just holding you close to him. He presses a kiss to the base of your scalp and you silently wish he’d pet your hair again. Keen to your desires as always, a lazy hand comes up to comb through your hair. It’s starting to dry, but it’s still laying somewhat flat from the water. 

The sun’s gone down completely now, and the water’s starting to get cold. “Mmm, I think we should get out,” you sigh. “The water’s cold, and I’m getting hungry too.”

Asra shifts, and you sit up from laying on his chest. He stands shamelessly, and you squeak, hands flying to your eyes. 

“You’ve seen me naked hundreds of times,” Asra teases. “Are you sure you’re alright?” 

You gulp. “Yes, I’m- um- you’re just…” You wave a hand in the general direction of his dick. 

Asra spares a glance down. His golden-brown cheeks go a shade red. “Ah. Right.” He’s half-hard. He snags a towel off the rack and pats himself dry quickly before wrapping it around his waist. “I’ll take care of that later.” 

Something pools in your core. Well, not something. It’s arousal, plain and simple. No need to dance around it. “Or…” you trail off, confidence dying.  _ No, that’s stupid. Don’t be stupid.  _

Asra fixes you with a truly curious and tantalizing look. “Or… what?” 

You’re still in the tub, hiding your body in the colored water. You flick some water, and it lands on the bathmat. “Well, I’m not ready for all the… the touching,” you manage. Asra’s listening patiently as you struggle to formulate the right words. “We found that out the hard way.”

You pick at your nails nervously. “So… I had an idea… we could try something else?” You drag your index finger back and forth on the rim of the bathtub, unable to bring yourself to say it. 

Asra has to coax it out of you. “What did you have in mind?” 

“Um.” It’s all you can say. Warmth spreads across all of your face, to the ends of your ears and in between your legs. You squeeze your legs together. The motion sends water sloshing. 

Asra bends down and pokes you in the shoulder. “If you don’t want to say, that’s fine. But if you’re just embarrassed, don’t be.” He steels you with a truly lust-filled look. “I’ll probably like whatever it is.” 

Your hands fly to cover your flaming cheeks. Asra’s just drinking in how adorable you are, even if you are the complexion of an apple. 

“I was thinking…” How in the hell were you supposed to suggest such a thing? “You- I- um- I could…? That I could watch… you.” Asra stares at you for a moment, lips parted slightly. You cover your face, successfully mortified. “Sorry, sorry, I just-” 

Asra cuts in smoothly. “No, no, you caught me off guard is all.” He gets on his knees to kiss you. You keen into it all too eagerly, and practically melt when his tongue begs for entrance. 

“So… it wasn’t weird?” You ask, a little breathless, pulling away from the kiss. 

“No; the opposite, in fact,” Asra hums. “I could get behind that.” 

Your eyes go wide. “You- you could? Like… right now?” 

Asra pulls back with a light laugh. “Not if you don’t want to,” he assures you. “I’m content just being with you.” 

You splash him, blushing. “Oh, hush.” 

He peppers your cheek with kisses and you snort with laughter. “I mean it,” he says between his little pecks. He perches his elbows on the rim of the tub. “I don’t care what we’re doing, as long as we’re together.” 

“Mm, me too,” you agree easily, running a wet hand through his fluffy hair. “Next time let me wash your hair, too,” you add, the thought popping into your head. 

“Oooh, sounds nice,” Asra coos, shooting you a coy look. “Towel?” 

“Please,” you say. He opens up a cabinet and hands you one of the nicer towels you own. No one towel set was exclusive to either of you; once washed, whatever towel was on top was used. Although, you were fairly sure you had never used Asra’s ridiculous tie-dye towel that was currently tied around his waist. It was far too much of an eyesore.

Asra turns his back before you can ask, and you dry yourself, flicks of water spraying as you ruffle your wet hair. You hang the towel up and run your hand over Asra’s shoulder, beckoning him to follow you. 

You feel Asra’s eyes on you as you make your way to your shared bedroom. As you pull open the top drawer of your dresser to grab a pair of boxer briefs, you whirl on him, His eyes are fixed on you. 

“What?” You ask, emphasizing with a wave of your clean underwear. 

Asra shrugs nonchalantly. “Oh, nothing. You have a cute butt, is all.” 

You scoff and whip out the underwear, the waistband grazing his forearm. He just laughs, enraptured with you as you step into the cloth. 

“Did you mean what you said?” Asra asks. “About watching? Or were you just thinking out loud?” 

“I- I meant it!” You stutter, crossing your arms. “I think,” you add under your breath

You’re suddenly hit with the realization you haven't the slightest idea of what you’re doing. Asra is nude on the bed now, sitting on the edge, his half-lidded eyes looking you up and down. 

“S- sit and- and lay back,” you command, trying to emulate confidence. You have a feeling you failed spectacularly but Asra sits back against the mound of pillows regardless. 

He raises an eyebrow cheekily. “What now,  _ master?”  _ His tone is oozing with playfulness, but the title sends jitters to your bones and heat to your core. 

You stand frozen for too long, apparently, because Asra’s teasing expression falls. “Was that too much?” He asks gently. 

You bury your face in your hands. “No, no, I just… I realized I have no idea what I’m doing.” You can feel Asra smiling at you, either in relief or amusement, you’re not sure. 

He pats the side of the bed next to him. “Sit next to me,” he offers. You crawl up on the bed and over him and settle in beside him. You’re laying on his left side, a hand over his heart and the other buried under pillows. 

There’s a hand in front of your face. “Could I get some help?” He asks in a low voice. 

“Help-? Oh, sure, right,” you realize. Tentatively, you take Asra’s fingers into your mouth. You work up as much saliva as you can, licking it up his digits. Then, you pull back as a strange taste invades your mouth. 

Asra peers at you. “What is it? Do you want to stop?” 

You swirl your tongue in your mouth. “No, your fingers just kinda taste like soap,” you admit.

Asra chuckles as you smack your lips, trying to rid your mouth of the sudsy taste. His slick hand moves up and down his cock slowly, coating it in your spit. Something about the sight makes you squeeze your thighs together. 

You don’t get erections; at least, not in the same way Asra does. It’s too small to push against the cloth of your underwear, an inch, maybe an inch and a half. Sure, you can get hard; you certainly are watching Asra move his hand, wet with your saliva, along his length. Your dick is forced to point down and out, a result of the hood of skin it hides under. 

Another unfortunate side effect is how sopping wet you can get. You curse your anatomy, and think, not for the first time, what Asra’s mouth would feel like on you. The thought is pushed out of your head forcefully.

One downside to having known Asra so long: you know practically everything there is to know about him. 

Except you’ve just learned something new. Asra is  _ not  _ the quiet sort. His moans come in breathy pants, his chest rising and falling as he works his hand on himself. Was he always this vocal, or was he putting on a show for you? Whatever the case was, you didn’t care.

“I wanna kiss you,” you blurt. You pounce on him the moment he turns his head to you, and your confidence swells as he goes pliant under your tongue. Asra nips your bottom lip and a moan slips from you. 

You press your lips up his throat, leaving little hickies in your wake. Out of the corner of your eye, you’re studying his body and movements. You notice the way the curve of his thumb brushes the ridge of the head of his cock with each pump of his hand. Every time he does, you can feel a low moan reverberate in his throat against your lips. 

Asra arches his hips into his own hand. His breath grows shallow and his strokes haphazard. You’re a bit jealous Asra knows himself so well it only takes him a few minutes to get off. When it came to your own pleasure, it was fickle. You’d need time to imagine, or prep, or read something erotic, and only then could you get off, and that’s if intrusive thoughts didn’t get in the way. 

He comes saying your name. His seed spurts onto his chest and you lay there for a moment, still. You feel him sigh, and his head leans into you. 

You feel Asra’s knuckles stroke your cheek. He looks sleepy. “How are you?” He mumbles. His mess is gone with a wave of his hand. Thank goodness for magic. 

“You- um- said my name,” you say flatly. 

Asra shifts to lay on his side to look at you properly. His purple eyes peer into yours intently. “Did it bother you?” His voice is tender as he continues to stroke your cheek. 

“I- I don’t know,” you say. Asra silently urges you to say more, but you just sigh defeatedly. “Really. I mean…” You trail off. You prop yourself up on your elbow and turn to him. “I like that you think of me. That’s okay. Nice, even. It just… feels a little weird? If that makes sense.” 

You run a hand through his soft hair, maintaining eye contact as much as your skittering gaze would allow. “Like… I- I think of  _ you  _ when I… you know.” Asra positively lights up, looking a tad devious as well. “So, you thinking of me is expected. I mean, I hoped you did at least. A little.” You’re losing your train of thought as you babble. 

Asra meets you halfway. “You liked it, but someone’s said your name like that before, haven’t they? That’s why it feels strange.” He brushes a strand of hair out of your eyes. “Right?” 

Gods, you don’t know what you’d do without Asra. Patient when you struggled to think of the right way to say things, and astute to figure out what you were trying to say when you couldn’t. 

A sigh of relief escapes you. You slide a hand across Asra’s bare chest and find a comfortable spot for your head to rest. Your towel-dried hair sprawls out on him, slightly damp still and cold from the water. 

“It’s better when you say it,” you mumble. “Sweeter. I’ll get used to it. It’s just… so different. Good change, though.” 

Asra sweeps your hair back. “What about you, pumpkin?” He asks. “Need… anything?” 

“Me?” You stare up at him dumbly before it dawns on you. “Oh. Uhhh…” you trail off, thinking. You’re definitely worked up and turned on again, but doing something about it was a whole other matter. The thought makes your stomach twist. 

“Not now,” you say quietly. “Not ready. I’ll… it’ll go away after we eat.” 

Asra cards his hand through your hair. You practically  _ purr.  _ Cuddling after such an act feels absolutely foreign to you. The fact Asra still  _ wants  _ to cuddle with you is astounding in itself. Well… not really, because it is Asra after all, but you can’t help but be beside yourself. 

“If you’re sure,” Asra says. “Hungry?” 

“Mm…” you sigh, nuzzling into him. “Yeah, but… let’s stay like this. For a bit.” 

Asra drapes an arm over you, a hand now lazily running up and down your back till it finally settles on the curve of your ass. The touch is so casual and soft you don't even realize it’s your butt at first. You’re almost surprised at yourself for how much you trust Asra. 

“Did we ever have sex before I died?” You blurt suddenly. The thought has crossed your mind before, but you were afraid of the answer. You’re not now. 

Asra shifts to lift your chin so you’re looking at him. You can see the shock on his face. “Was this… Are you feeling pressured? I assure you, if you don’t want-” 

“No, no,” you insist. “I know. I know it’s all up to me. I just… I want to know.” 

Asra relaxes. “Well, in that case, no.” 

You blink. “We didn’t?” 

He tilts his head at you. There’s a trace of concern lingering on his features. “Did you think we did?” 

“Sort of,” you admit. “You… well- I know we were… close.” 

Asra holds you close and the yawning hole in your chest stops growing. “We were. But we never did anything more than kiss.” He plays with your hair absently as he continues. “These aren’t just your firsts; they’re mine too.” He brushes hair out of your eyes to look into them. “Our firsts together.” 

You press the side of your head to his chest and listen to his heartbeat. “I hate that I still feel weird about this. I know you would never do anything to hurt me. But I can’t stop feeling scared. Not of you- of it all, I mean.” 

Asra’s hand is combing through your hair, keeping you grounded and calm as you attempt to put how you feel into words. “I think about you,” you admit quietly. “Me. Us. T- together. And it’s nice… in concept. But then I think about it in reality… of- of hands touching me, and it doesn’t matter that it’s you because it’s still  _ hands  _ on me.”

He takes in a deep breath. You unknowingly copy him, and your racing heartbeat slows a little. “Baby steps, love,” he reminds you. “There’s no rush.” 

You trace your fingers over the hidden sigil on his chest. “I know, I know,” you sigh in frustration. “I just  _ want  _ to be able to do this with you. Without freaking out. I want to feel you, be with you, share this with you.” 

Asra’s lips plant a kiss to your forehead. “If that’s what you want, we’ll get there. Eventually. It’s something we can work up to, at your own pace. I’m not worried.” 

You blink. “You’re not?” 

He shrugs under you. “No,” he says simply. “I told you before; I’m happy if you want it, and I’m happy if you don’t. I don’t need sex from you to be happy with you.” 

You’ve heard it before from him, but it still relaxes you. Asra continues. “This isn’t too much for you?” He asks, so gentle and kind and thoughtful. 

You hum in your throat, pondering. A fair question. What sounds nice in a vague fantasy living in your head is one thing. The actuality is something different entirely. What are you capable of until your old haunts come up to remind you how unclean you are? 

You don’t realize you’re lightly scratching at your arm until Asra moves your hand away to tenderly rub your arm himself. “Not dirty,” he murmurs into your hair. You take a deep breath. 

“It’s… new,” you manage. “Different. But I want to overwrite it. I hear people talk about how wonderful and great and  _ fun  _ sex is, and that just sounds so… impossible to me.” Your lips graze Asra’s jawline as you lean up to meet him with a soft kiss. “I want you to show me it can be.”

“Mmm,” Asra sighs. He’s staring at you with such tenderness you threaten to melt under it, all of his love directed at you. He sweeps a hand through your hair and you lean your head into it. 

“My darling love,” he murmurs. His voice is low and gentle and  _ soft  _ as he squeezes you closer to him. “My sweet, little pumpkin.” 

You push his cheek away with the heel of your palm, feeling exposed under his intense gaze of adoration. “What.” 

Asra shakes his head. “Nothing, I’m just… so proud of you. You’ve come so far.” 

That’s… not what you expected. “Wha- but… I…” That can’t be right… can it? No. No. Nothing’s changed. You’re broken, aren’t you?

“You’re healing,” Asra tells you, tone very gentle and quiet. It’s firm, but almost a whisper. “A year ago, would you have been able to do this? Two years? Three? You’re better than you were then, and you’re going to keep getting better.” 

You’re at a loss. You shake your head numbly. How could he say that when you broke down with him above you only a few hours ago? Weird about your name spoken in ecstasy? No. He has to be wrong. 

“They- they broke me… Asra, they- they ruined me,” you choke out. “I want to do this with you, but… I don’t know if I ever will be able to.  _ Because  _ of  _ them.”  _ You spit it with venom. “I’m never… I’ll never…” 

“You can say that,” Asra says, thumb stroking down your scalp, “but you’d be wrong.” He sounds so sure of himself. “You’re more healed than you were a year ago. And that version of you was more healed than you two years ago. Don’t you see? You can only get better.” 

In your bones, in your very  _ soul  _ you can feel Asra is right. A you from three years ago could never have wrapped his head around how much Asra loves you. He would have thought it impossible. 

Instead of trying to figure out what to say to  _ all  _ of that, you keep your ear flush to his chest. His heartbeat is the most holy sound in the world. 

“Take as much time as you need,” he sighs softly. “I’ll be here.” 

It’s funny. You would have never thought laying with someone naked in bed, even Asra, would make you feel safe. But here you are, clad in only underwear, head comfortably resting on Asra’s pec, and you feel  _ safe.  _ Protected. 

“I think you’re right,” you admit under your breath. It takes more strength than you care to admit. 

Asra has never looked prouder. 

**Author's Note:**

> might make a part 3? probably not. i dunno.
> 
> asra's pet name for the apprentice being pumpkin makes me soft and it's a hc i'll go down with


End file.
